


Forbidden Fruit

by Marvelicious (Jayjaybe)



Category: The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: F/F, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Open Relationships, Semi-Public Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6551860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/pseuds/Marvelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Laura can finish searching the darkness for her, barely daring to hope this is a joint invitation, Baphomet utters the magic words: “The Morrigan’s waiting.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weakinteraction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/gifts).



“ _Psst, Laura_.”

She blinks at the clock on her dresser for a long moment - it’s almost 2 am - not entirely sure if she dreamed the familiar voice, if it’s wishful thinking, or if Baphomet’s actually here - Laura sits up quickly, pulling the covers around her, her heart racing. Surely even he wouldn’t…

Something clatters against her window and, her sudden fears laid to rest, Laura slips out of bed without hesitation. Unexpected maybe, but it feels less surprising than it probably should, even when she eases the window open to see Baphomet standing there in the flesh. He lurks just beyond the circle of light cast by the porch lamp, tossing aside a handful of gravel and grinning like a fiend. “Are you coming, or do I get a turn butchering Shakespeare?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, not that Laura had really expected him to, throwing a hand up in an exaggerated gesture. “Laura, oh Laura, wherefore art thou dicking around at home when I’m terrifying the masses tonight? Throw on something black and let’s go.” And then, before Laura can finish searching the darkness for her, barely daring to hope this is a joint invitation, Baphomet utters the magic words: “The Morrigan’s waiting.”

 

What feels like it should be at least an hour later, Laura is still making her way through the crowd of people, searching for a glimpse of long black hair (lots of it, but none attached to the Morrigan), sweeping skirts or corvid tattoos (same, ditto). She’s not quite ready to admit defeat, but it’s looking increasingly like the triple goddess isn’t in attendance.

Irritation prickles briefly between Laura’s shoulder blades. At Baphomet, for lying to her, and at herself, for falling for it… again. 

But the energy of the crowd is ramping up to a fever pitch, and pissed off at him or not, Laura is more than a little curious to see Baphomet perform. He’d disappeared into the throng a few minutes ago, making cryptic promises about this being an experience beyond her wildest dreams, and the nervous excitement on the tracks is infectious. So, fuck it. False pretenses or not, she’s here: at a secret show in the dead of night, snuck out by the headliner himself. Might as well enjoy it. 

Laura lets herself be swept up by the crowd, surrendering to the heat and the crush of bodies, the screams that rend the air when a fiery pair of eyes suddenly blaze through the darkness. 

Baphomet laughs like a maniac, fangs flashing, lit only by his own pyrotechnics, and Laura can feel how much he’s enjoying this. So, yeah, it probably makes her a hypocrite, but she can’t quite help giving in, grinning recklessly despite the flames creeping steadily closer to the edges of the crowd and shadowy figures that flicker in the corners of her vision no matter how she turns. The crush isn’t just bodies then - she’s short of breath, the walls closing in, tunnel spiraling down down down - 

Something grabs Laura from the darkness and a hand is clasped over her mouth just before she can muster up the air to scream. 

“Not tonight,” the Morrigan assures her, sounding amused. The world spins back into dizzying focus, far friendlier feeling shadows twisting up around them like a veil. Her breath stirs the hair on the nape of Laura’s neck, and it prickles not unpleasantly. “Didn’t have Baphomet lure you here to have all the fun.” 

Laura’s stomach twists with anticipation. She sucks in as deep a breath as she dares around the Morrigan’s fingers, and tries to convince herself that it’s no big deal, that this is all completely normal. No dice. 

“Watch.” 

People to either side of them are covering their eyes or staring in open-mouthed horror, clutching at their neighbors, curling in on themselves - but that’s not what draws Laura’s attention. The Morrigan’s hands don’t waver where they hold her close, and Laura can barely focus on anything else. Baphomet’s spell might not penetrate whatever space the Morrigan’s carved out for them, but there’s an inferno in her veins. Laura’s blood thrums along with every note filtering through the gloom, her skin burning beneath the Morrigan’s touch. 

Slowly, deliberately, just when Laura thinks she can’t bear the stillness for a second more, the Morrigan slides a hand around her waist. As worked up as she is, it might as well be pornographic. Laura can’t help glancing to either side, convinced that the way she’s nearly trembling in the Morrigan’s arms must be glaringly obvious, but no one is paying them any attention. All eyes are on Baphomet, and in this shadowy recess, the two of them might as well be invisible. Maybe they are. The uncertainty only adds to her excitement. 

The Morrigan’s fingers tighten over Laura’s mouth, silently promising everything she hasn’t yet found the words to beg for. “Can’t have you singing now,” she teases, lips brushing the shell of Laura’s ear. “See later if you can scream to match battlefield queen’s augur.” 

If that’s later, what are they doing now? Laura glances back up at him, shocky little ripples of anticipation filling her from head to toe. Baphomet is in his element, lighting up the platform with a fury that seems to swing between madness and utter sobriety faster than Laura can try to pin it down. Both torturer and victim, it’s exactly the kind of twisted that suits him - and for the first time, Laura sees what the Morrigan must. She gasps. 

Flames searing into her vision, Laura feels as if she’s slipped sideways into a parallel dimension. She can’t take her eyes off of the supernova engulfing the platform, her entire body wound tight to the Morrigan’s touch. Time slows to a crawl. The two of them could be the only ones in the room, surrounded on all sides, and Laura’s no longer sure if the music is moving with her, or she to it. 

It occurs to her in passing that whatever this is is moving far faster than she could ever have imagined, but she’s never been more certain of anything in her life. Never felt more alive than when the Morrigan’s fingers creep lower, finding their way between her thighs and testing the hem of Laura’s skirt. The danger here is a tease; a friend; a fiction. She’s not afraid. 

The Morrigan eases her skirt up little by little, tight fabric bunching around the top of her thighs until the pressure matches that of the hand over her mouth, the fingertips digging into her upper thigh. Laura feels the Morrigan’s breath catch in her throat more than she hears it, and then it’s impossible to mistake the tremor in her grasp. Only then does it really occur to Laura that the Morrigan must want this as badly as she does. Her knees go weak. 

Morrigan’s fingers stroke Laura’s skin in time to the overpowering beat, drawing ever closer before dancing away once more, until it takes all Laura has to keep herself silent. She’s caught in the worst/best way; can’t make up her mind whether to spread her legs further - surrender fully to the Morrigan’s whim - or squeeze them tight for what little sensation she can steal for herself. 

She bites her tongue and forces herself to ease her thighs apart, futilely chasing the Morrigan’s touch. 

“Clever girl,” the Morrigan encourages her, nipping at the shell of Laura’s ear before immediately taking advantage. Her fingers press against the damp cotton of Laura’s panties, just gentle enough that Laura knows she’s still being teased. She whimpers, suddenly grateful for the hand holding her silent, but Laura can’t help glancing around them again either, sure someone must have heard, sure someone must _see_. 

All eyes in the room are on Baphomet - and Laura really can’t blame them. It might not be affecting her now, but it’s clear the energy in the underground station has changed, and Baphomet moves to his own music in a way that looks vaguely pornographic. Laura finally dares to exhale. She’s not sure if she should be worried by how her body quivers with the motion of his hips, but that’s a problem for another time. 

The Morrigan hums under her breath to catch her attention back and then she lifts her fingers once more, showing Laura how they glisten with her own slick before sucking them into her mouth. “Such sweet fruit,” she declares, and surely if Laura’s skin could flush any hotter, she would spontaneously combust. 

Maybe she was wrong about Baphomet’s spell affecting her. Laura’s entire body is pulled tight, aching, yearning, _throbbing_. “Please,” she tries to beg, but it’s muffled and lost in the roar of the crowd and the press of the Morrigan’s fingers across her lips. She does the next best thing she can think of, and grips the Morrigan’s thighs as if she could force their bodies any closer together. 

“Both so impatient,” Morrigan teases, but then the pressure of her fingers is back - and this time she doesn’t tease. Laura’s breath catches in her chest before she can laugh. 

She pushes the fabric to the side and wets Laura’s clit with her own fluids, every pass tremblingly in tune with their one-man horror show. Laura looks up at him again, mouthing desperately against the Morrigan’s other hand in an effort to stay quiet, and she could swear he’s as caught up as she is. He looks down at her at last, lips parted and eyes dark, and the moment Laura’s heart skips a beat - oh gods, he’s hot, the way he looks at her - becomes the moment she realizes that he is looking at her, at _them_ \- 

She’s coming almost before she can comprehend it, eyes locked with Baphomet’s, and he sees, he knows - Laura shudders in the Morrigan’s arms and only barely manages to bite down on her tongue in time, sure that even the noise that Baphomet lets loose would never mask it. All the light goes out at once, plunging them into darkness, and Laura feels the Morrigan press a quick kiss to her cheek at the same time she tugs Laura’s skirt back into place. 

“Best fucking gig of your life,” Baphomet announces, his voice echoing supernaturally loud above the answering screams. Laura’s not sure how, but she can feel him turn towards her just before his eyes appear again in flames. He winks. “You’re welcome.”

It says everything, gives nothing away, and Laura's flushing down to her toes. Fuck. 

There’s a rustle of feathers behind her, and then the Morrigan’s touch disappears altogether, soft laughter left lingering behind her. “ _See you backstage_.”


End file.
